


To Plant New Seeds and Watch Them Grow

by graceling_in_a_suit



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (sort of), Alternate Universe - 1970s, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Blood purity, Dates, M/M, Potions, Ravenclaw Harry Styles, Romance, Slytherin Louis Tomlinson, you know the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 03:44:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18086798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graceling_in_a_suit/pseuds/graceling_in_a_suit
Summary: Harry's Hearty Herbssits in Diagon Alley, filled to the brim with flowers and potion ingredients and the care of its owner. Louis Tomlinson also sits in Diagon Alley, a former Slytherin golden-boy descended from wizarding nobility and now running his very own potion stand. 70s Wizarding Britain isn't the safest place for love between a half-blood and a pureblood to blossom, yet blossom it does.





	To Plant New Seeds and Watch Them Grow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pinktulips](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinktulips/gifts).



> Based off the prompt: Harry/Louis. Post hogwarts au - they didn’t know each other then - where H is really into herbology and has a little shop selling plants etc. L is a regular customer who comes in nearly every day cause he’s really into potions and has a little stand selling them across from Harry’s shop. And so they just fall in love through their little everyday interactions, and L eventually works up enough courage to ask H out on a date, and takes him to the magical equivalent of the botanic gardens. (So it’s basically a flower shop au, except it’s magic.)
> 
> I hope it's everything you wanted and more xx
> 
> (Title from Flowers In The Window by Travis).

Harry’s belladonna was wilting on the shelf, and he wasn’t getting more until next Saturday. He stared at it sadly, then looked accusingly to the dittany sitting to its left.

“Did you do this?” he asked, glaring and crossing his arms. The dittany didn’t respond, because it was a plant. But if it had responded, Harry thought it might have rolled its eyes. Dittany heals, belladonna harms; he’d put them together on this far shelf (away from direct sunlight, like they wanted) because he’d liked the harmony. Yin and yang, life and death.

And now his belladonna was wilting, just in time for–

–the door to open.

“Morning, Styles!” called the customer who’d just entered.

Harry turned and smiled automatically, then his smile grew just from staring at him. He was wearing a lovely robe today, weather-appropriate and dark blue. “Good morning, Louis,” he said.

Louis’ eyes crinkled at the sides, like they always did. He’d been coming into Harry’s small shop every day for about three months now, buying what he needed for the potions he made and sold in a stand across the street. They were neighbours in what Harry liked to refer to as the butt-end of Diagon Alley: far away from the expensive stores for sophisticated witches and wizards, but not quite far enough down so as to be mingling with the _darker_ stores (the feet ones, if you will).

Harry was grateful for that; times were tough at the moment, and he didn’t want to give anyone more reason to cause trouble. His very existence as a half-blood always seemed reason enough, to that sort.

“Oh, no! Your belladonna! What’s happened to her?” Louis cooed, noticing the sad plant next to Harry.

He stepped close so he could poke at her droopy leaves, and Harry blushed at their proximity.

He folded his hands behind his back, but he didn’t make any move to put some distance between them. “She’s throwing a hissy fit because I put her next to dittany,” he deadpanned.

Louis made a choked noise, like he was swallowing a laugh, and nodded very seriously. “Well, that makes perfect sense, then! Why would you do a thing like that?”

Harry smiled and shook his head. “Lunacy, I suppose. What can I get for you today?”

Louis took a small step back, like he’d quite forgotten he’d come in for anything at all. “Oh! Um,” he said, rifling through his robe pockets and producing a piece of parchment. His wand fell into his hand from his sleeve, and he tapped the paper a few times, mumbling to himself.

Harry was used to the display by now, but he’d been a little worried for the man’s sanity the first time Louis had done this.

“Right! Yes,” Louis exclaimed once the spell on the parchment had configured. “Looks like I’m running low on gurdyroot, borage, and scurvy grass.”

Harry nodded—business mode engaged—and headed off towards the back, where the portal to his greenhouse was. Quite a tricky spell to get working, that one, but Harry hadn’t O’d his NEWTs to sit around and let other people cast complicated dimensional magic for him. It wasn’t like he’d had much choice either; he’d been straight out of school when he’d started _Harry’s Hearty Herbs,_ and he hadn’t had enough money to purchase a store in Diagon Alley with enough room for all his plants. So he’d settled for a very intricate assemblage of wards and a crudely bastardized version of the spell used on portkeys, and it worked so long as no one but him went through it.

“I’ll be right back!” he called over his shoulder before stepping through, pausing to hear Louis’ laugh ring through the shop.

“I know!”

He smiled to himself as he stepped into his greenhouse, making his way past the section of exotic flora and towards the storage cupboards. Louis hadn’t specified that he’d needed his stock fresh, which usually meant he was after the potion-ready varieties Harry had in stock. It only took him a moment to accio the ones his very favourite customer had requested, and then he was back in the shop.

Louis startled a little, looking over at Harry guiltily from where he’d been petting Harry’s _much_ -too-friendly flitterbloom.  
  
“She likes you, I’ve noticed,” Harry offered, smiling as the plant wrapped one of it’s thick vine-like tendrils around Louis’ wrist sweetly.

“Yes, well,” Louis laughed, grinning at the plant as he extracted himself gently. “I’m very charming, me.”

Harry cleared his throat and put Louis’ order on the counter so he could process the payment. He’d been so focused on resisting the urge to heartily, vocally agree that he’d completely forgotten not to be rude.

“Sorry, how much do I owe you today?” Louis said sheepishly, stepping over to the counter and producing his coin purse.

Harry tapped his chin for a moment, squinting down at the items.

“A galleon and five sickles should cover it,” he decided.

Louis narrowed his eyes at him, like he suspected Harry was undercharging him (which he was, but only a little). Harry smiled back at him as innocently as he could, and Louis gave in after a moment.

He handed over the coins, and Harry tried not to do anything creepy when their skin touched, like grab his hand and never let go.

He considered how much he and his flitterbloom had in common as he put Louis’ coins in the rusty second-hand register he'd never got around to replacing.

“Say, Styles,” Louis said, a playfully coy tone to his voice that made Harry look up from packing Louis’ herbs into a bag. “Are you doing anything for lunch today?”

Harry lit up. “Yes, actually! I’m closing shop for an hour to have a picnic with my sister and my niece, she's only 4 months old. I love babies,” he sighed.

Louis looked put out for a second before he recovered. “That sounds lovely, I hope you have a nice time.”

Harry hummed, then his eyes widened. It had occurred to him about thirty seconds too late that the other man might have been trying to ask him out on a date. He was the world's biggest _idiot_.

“I'll just… Be off, then,” Louis said awkwardly, picking up his bag from the counter.

“Oh, um. See you tomorrow!” Harry said weakly as Louis turned and made for the door.

Louis waved over his shoulder, and then he was gone. Harry slumped against his counter as soon as Louis was gone from view, thudding his head against the wood.

Louis Tomlinson— _the_ Louis Tomlinson, Slytherin’s prized seeker years 1967–1969—had just tried to ask him on a date. He'd been a Prefect when Harry was still fresh to Hogwarts, and he'd caught sight of him a few times in the hallway helping people out and dressing down bullies. The Tomlinson family was old blood; as old as England, if they were to believed, and pureblood through and through. They had quite the reputation amongst those with muggle heritage, and not a good one at that.

Harry had been… Well, worried, to say the least, when Louis had shown up on his shop the first day. He heard the whispers on the streets, read the reports buried in the Daily Prophet,  he could see a storm brewing on the horizon—everyone who didn't have their head up their asses did. Violence against half-bloods and muggleborns was on the rise, and Harry had good reason to be cautious.

Not that he hadn't been his best polite self; if there was anything his muggle mother had taught him, it was to not throw the first stone in a fight. And to be kind, always to be kind.

But there wasn't anything to have been worried about. Louis had been nothing but achingly sweet and effortlessly charming, asking questions about Harry's shop and his flower display.

And Harry had found himself ensnared, enraptured, bewitched. Louis’ visit was the highlight of his day, sad as that sounded.

Harry sighed and got to work setting up his seasonal display. There was no use dwelling on it, not when Louis would likely be back tomorrow and Harry could… Well. He could try and work up the courage to ask him on a date.

 

  
  
There was one small problem with that plan: Louis didn’t show up the next day.

Harry frowned his way through the morning, greeting every customer with a hopeful grin that he had to work to keep on his face when he saw they weren’t Louis. The pumpkin tarts he’d made last night as a gift for Louis—he’d mentioned enjoying them in passing once—were kept warm under a heating charm, but they seemed to be drooping along with Harry as the day went on.  
  
Louis hadn’t _not_ shown up since the first day he’d set up his potion stand three months ago. Even on days when he clearly didn’t need to buy anything, he’d still popped by to say hi.

When it came time for Harry to take his usual half hour for lunch, he decided that enough was enough.  
  
If Louis wasn’t coming in, then Harry would just have to go to him instead. He packed up the pumpkin tarts in a carry box, flipped the jovial little sign on the door so a dancing willow could tell his customers that he’d be back shortly, then made his way across the street. He stuck out like a sore thumb in Diagon Alley on most days but especially today, with his lurid flared jeans and flouncy shirt. Harry had tried to get on board with wizarding fashion in his years at Hogwarts, but muggles were doing such wonderful and insane things with their clothes these days; who was he not to participate?

He nodded and smiled at some of the wizards and witches he recognised on his way down the street, but his eyes were focused on the potion stand across the road.

Usually, Louis was standing behind it, scrawling away in his journal about his latest experiment, smiling at everyone who stopped by to have a peak at his wares. Today, the stand was empty; not a bottle or a Louis in sight.

Harry reached the stand, taking an unsure step towards it and resting his hand on the soft wood. There was a little cover over the bench with a jaunty sign that read, ‘Potions for sale!’, and Harry smiled at it for a moment.

He set down the tart box on the stand, and was about to step away and head back to his store when he heard a noise. It sounded like a swear word, if the person swearing was a mouse.

“Hello?” Harry poked his head around the back of the stand, eyes scanning for the source of the mysterious cussing. The back of the stand looked utterly ordinary until a small door opened in the centre of it and a miniaturised Louis Tomlinson poked his head out.

He looked up at Harry, swore again, then disappeared back through the door.  
  
Harry blinked a few times.

“Give me a sec, sorry!” he heard from the stand. Louis’ voice was squeaky and high-pitched, and Harry smothered his laugh with his hand.

Then, Tiny Louis appeared in the doorway again with a bottle in his hand. “Drink this,” he said, offering it up.

Harry picked it up gingerly, unable to contain his giggle at the ridiculously small bottle in his hand. It was the size of his thumbnail, filled with a thick red liquid.

“What is it?” he asked, peering at the small object.

Louis cross his tiny arms and leant against his tiny doorway. “Butterbeer.”

Harry snorted, and Louis smiled.

“It’s an experimental potion I use to get into my lab,” he waved behind him at the closed-off shelf of the stand. “Not at all Ministry approved, so if you grow an extra head, I apologise.”

Harry thought about it for a moment, then poured the potion into his mouth. He barely tasted anything since it was such a small amount, but he could feel something happening to his body almost straight away. One moment he was standing behind the stand, shops and pedestrians visible in the distance, and the next he was staring up at a house-sized wooden construction.

Louis’ potion stand looked so different from this size and angle, Harry mused.

“Y’alright, Styles?” Louis called, peeking down at him from about a story up. His voice was back to its normal pitch, caramel coloured and tinged with laughter.

Harry grinned. “I’m fine, thank you! How–um,” he looked around, then back up at Louis. “How am I getting up?”

Louis pointed to the right, and Harry turned to see a ladder carved into the leg of the stand. He rubbed his hands together in preparation for the climb, then set his feet on the first rung.

“Oh! Merlin’s tits,” he heard Louis mutter from above, and Harry saw him dart back into his lab.

It didn’t take very long to climb the rest of the way up, especially since he was hurrying. He was achingly curious about what exactly had kept Louis from coming by the shop today, and what on earth all the swearing was about. He stepped up onto the ledge finally, trying not to look down as he made his way over to the door.

Louis had left it wide open, and Harry froze in the doorway as he took in the sight before him.

An entire potions laboratory, as fully stocked and supplied as the one Harry remembered from Hogwarts, was hidden away in Louis’ potion stand. Cauldrons, stoves, herbs and jars full of newt’s eyes and raven’s claws, benches and knives and mortars and pestles and an entire wall full of books—everything a potion master could need. And it had all been meticulously shrunk down, which was a clever bit of witchcraft considering how temperamental a permanent shrinking charm could be.

In the middle of it all was Louis, bathed in gold from the light streaming in through an amber-tinted window and leaning over a bubbling cauldron. His hand was poised above it holding a single sprig of rosemary, and his eyes were focused on a stopwatch charm hovering above his hand.

“Welcome to my lab, Styles,” he said, sparing a second to flash Harry a blinding grin before snapping his gaze back to the charm. Twenty one seconds left.

“It’s amazing,” Harry breathed, finally stepping inside. He walked over to the shelf on the far wall, running his fingers over the covers of the books. So many advanced titles, at least half of them utterly unfamiliar to him. “How did you do all of this?”  
  
Harry looked over his shoulder at Louis’ back, still hovering over his cauldron. Thirteen seconds left.

“Oh, you know,” Louis shrugged distractedly. “Magic.”

Harry snorted, making his way over to Louis. He kept his distance as the charm counted down the last ten seconds, taking the opportunity to study Louis’ features. His blue eyes looked almost green in the tinted light, and Harry parked his chin in his hand.

“You’re staring, Styles,” Louis muttered. Harry would have stopped, but there was a slight pinkness to Louis’ cheeks and a slight upturn to his lips that told Harry he didn’t mind.

Then, the stopwatch charm made a soft ringing noise, and Louis dropped the rosemary into the pot. The concoction turned bright pink immediately, wafts of earthy-scented smoke coming off of it.

Louis frowned down at the cauldron, hummed, and scribbled something in his book.

“Am I allowed to ask what you’re making?”

Louis sent him a sly glance from the corner of his eye, then flipped his fringe out of his face in a movement that should not have caused Harry’s heart to stop beating for a moment. And yet.

“You can ask, if you must,” Louis sniffed. “But I shan’t tell you.”  
  
Harry raised his eyebrows. “Not even if I tell you that I made you pumpkin tarts?”

Louis’ face lit up. “Really?” he looked Harry up and down, then his excitement melted into sass. “I suppose they’re invisible tarts, then?”

Harry guffawed, then clapped a hand over his mouth in surprise at the noise he’d made. Louis’ eyes were twinkling, so Harry couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed. Instead, he cleared his throat and pushed a curl behind his ear. “I brought them over, but I left them on your stand, since, um. Since you didn’t come in this morning?”  
  
Louis’ face fell. “Harry, I’m so sorry, it completely slipped my mind—this potion I’m working on is kind of troublesome– well, that’s no excuse, I’m–”

Harry—still reeling from Louis _finally_ using his first name—placed his hand atop Louis’ on the bench, and Louis’ stuttered apology died in his throat.

“It’s alright, I get it,” Harry soothed. Then, he cracked a humble smile. “You don’t have to visit me _every_ day.”

Louis looked like he’d just eaten a vomit flavoured bean from Bertie Bott’s puzzlingly popular confectionery range. “Right.” He let out a small, strangled laugh, then extracted his hand from beneath Harry’s. “Of course not.”

Harry frowned. “Is something wrong?”  
  
Louis laughed, but the sound was a little forced. “No, uh.” He turned back to his notes for a moment to scribble something out, and when he finished his sentence his voice had returned to its normal honey-dew. “You’re right, I probably don’t need to come every day. I’m sure you’re sick of me by now.”

“No, that’s not what I meant!” Harry stood, scrambling. “Obviously you’re my favourite customer, I just,” he deflated a little under Louis’ shocked gaze. “All I meant was, I understand you have other things to be doing.”  
  
Louis smiled shyly, ducking his head to laugh softly. “You’re _favourite_ customer, am I?” he asked, blatantly ignoring the other part of what Harry had said.

Harry blushed, but met Louis’ gaze with his best smirk. “It’s either you or Mrs. Gringles, but she always pinches my cheeks.”

“Oh, well, naturally she’s no competition then,” Louis scoffed. “I’ve never once pinched your cheeks.”

“No,” he agreed, not even bothering to control his grin. “I’d remember.”

Louis opened his mouth to respond, but his attention was caught when his cauldron started to shudder.

“Bollocks,” he muttered, extinguishing the flame underneath with a quick swish of his wand. Harry peered into the cauldron and saw that the liquid inside had begun to congeal into something yellow and squishy.

“Is that supposed to happen?”

Louis shook his head, flipping through his notes frantically. “This is a _very_ bad sign, I must have botched the timing somehow.”

Harry backed away a little as the shuddering of the cauldron turned into outright rocking. He cast a quick shield charm over himself, then asked politely, “Is it going to explode?”

“‘Course not,” Louis muttered, and then a moment later he was covered in squishy yellow liquid. The cauldron had stopped rocking the moment it sent its contents flying across the lab. Harry stifled a laugh as a blob of mucous-like potion dripped down Louis’ nose and onto the workbench.

Louis glared at him through the liquid, and Harry couldn’t contain his laughter a moment longer. His shield charm melted away; Harry was too busy clutching his stomach to maintain it. As it was, he was the only thing in the entire room without a thin coating of Louis’ botched potion.

“I’m sorry,” he forced out in between laughs, “but your _face–”_

Louis flicked some potions from his eyes with a delicate swish. “No, go ahead, laugh it up,” he said darkly. Harry would have been worried about offending him, if he hadn’t seen the twist of humour on Louis’ lips. “See if I visit you ever again.”

“Nooo,” Harry giggled. “But I brought tarts!”  
  
“Invisible tarts!” Louis accused.

Harry tried to control his laughter, summoning his wand from his sleeve. “How about I accio one? You could swim in it.”

Louis shook his head fondly, turning back to his workbench and getting started on vanishing the mess away. “I’d prefer if you didn’t do that, Styles. I don’t exactly have a back-up lab.” He smiled at Harry softly over his shoulder.

Harry frowned, then laughed good-naturedly. “Surely that can’t be true! Your family–”

Louis coughed sharply, shoulders tense. Harry instantly shut his mouth; he knew a sensitive topic when he saw it. That didn’t mean he wasn’t drowning in curiosity about Louis’ touchiness, though. He hadn’t heard anything about any estrangement between Tomlinsons. But then again, a family with as much stake in public opinion as they had weren’t likely to advertise anything of the sort.

“Well, I’d better sort this mess out.” Louis waved vaguely at his slime-covered lab.

Harry nodded, tucking some loose hair behind his ear. “Of course, yeah, and I should probably get back to the shop.”

Louis pursed his lips. He looked for a moment like he wanted to say something, and Harry stared at him with wide, hopeful eyes.  
  
Then Louis looked away and pulled a small bottle out of a drawer. “Here, um,” he coughed. “You’ll need this.”  
  
Harry took it delicately. “Sure you want to just hand me this? You never know, I might go blabbing to the Ministry.” The joke fell flat, but Harry kept his chin up.

Louis cracked a small grin. “I doubt that. I think you’re more likely to use it on your little green friends to make a tiny garden.”

Harry looked down at the bottle excitedly. “Could I?”

Louis laughed and pushed him towards the door. Just like that, the playful mood was back. “Absolutely. Go nuts.”

Harry cheered, then hovered in the doorway. He scrambled to think of something to say. It felt like he was always doing that, around Louis; trying to find small, pathetic ways to make their conversations last longer.

“Don’t forget about your tarts.”  
  
Louis smiled that crinkly smile he did, the one that was somehow brighter than twenty lumos charms. “I promise.” He patted Harry’s chest, and Harry grinned deliriously.

It wasn’t until he was down the ladder and his normal size again that he noticed Louis had smeared some yellow goop down his lovely striped shirt.

 _I have no idea how to clean this,_ Harry thought, unable to keep the grin off his face.

 

 

“Styles!”  
  
Harry looked up as Louis threw the door open to his shop with a theatrical swish.  
  
“I have a huge problem.” The door clicked shut behind him, soft afternoon light streaming in and illuminating him from behind. Harry was lucky that there was no other customers in the shop at the moment because he was quite unable to look away.

“Hmmm, a problem?” Harry tapped his quill against his chin, stocktake lying abandoned in front of him. “And how big is it, you say?”

Louis put his hands on his hips, bunching his dark green robe up at the sleeves and accentuating his lovely, lovely waist. “Huge.”  
  
Harry hummed again, struggling to keep a grave expression on his face. “I see. And what is the nature of the problem?”  
  
Louis looked away for a moment to quickly smile, then he marched up to the desk where Harry’s paperwork and the till sat. He rested his forearms on the counter, and Harry quickly mirrored the action from the other side of it.

“Well, it all started yesterday when I was gifted some invisible tarts,” Louis said. Harry’s eyes were caught on his fingers tapping idly on the wood of Harry’s desk. They were very nice fingers, as far as fingers went. “The next thing I know, I’ve eaten them all in the space of twenty minutes and my cat won’t look me in the eye again.”  
  
“Ah.” Harry pointed, cocking an eyebrow. “So this is a cat-related problem?”  
  
Louis tusked. “Come on, Styles, be serious. She’d forgotten all about it this morning, and she never respected me in the first place. Get your head in the game.”

Harry’s lips twitched, but he bowed his head to hide it. “I’m very sorry, please continue.”  
  
“Thank you,” Louis said. “You see, the _real_ problem is—”

The door opened, cutting Louis off.

Harry looked over at the customer with a greeting ready on his tongue that melted into a grin when he saw who it was.

“Gemma!” he rounded the table and scooped her into a hug.

She laughed at patted his back. “Yes, hello. I was just running some errands and I thought I'd pop by and see if you wanted to get lunch?”

Harry released her. “Sounds lovely. Oh!” He turned and gestured to Louis, who was leaning awkwardly against Harry's desk. “Gemma, I'm sure you remember Louis? You were in the same year at Hogwarts.”

Louis raised his hand to wave, and Gemma looked over at him sharply. Where a moment ago she's looked fond, she now just looked sour.

“I remember, yes,” Gemma said, words icy.

Harry took a step back in alarm, frowning at his sister. Louis’ smile died on his face.

Gemma ignored Harry and took a step towards Louis. “I had the pleasure of running into your cousin Artemisia last Friday. My daughter got to hear someone call me a filthy half-blood for the first time in her life, isn't that nice?”

Louis gulped. “I am so sor—”

“Save it,” Gemma said. She turned to Harry. “Come on, let's go.”

Harry shook his head sternly. “No, Gems. What the hell—he's my _friend—”_

“I think I should go, actually,” Louis mumbled, skirting towards the door. Harry made to move towards him, hand outstretched, but Louis ducked away.

“I'll see you later, Styles,” he mumbled, pulling the door open. With a final apologetic glance towards Gemma, he was gone.

Harry wheeled on his sister, but she was faster. “He's not your friend, Harry. Haven't you been paying attention? His family is at the heart of the blood purity movement, he's _dangerous.”_

“He's not like them,” Harry shot back darkly. “He's—no, you know what? We're not doing this here. I don't want to argue in front of my plants.”

Harry stalked over to his desk lifted his coat off the chair behind it. The flitterbloom on his shelf curled one of its arms towards him as he walked past, and he stopped he stroke it fondly. The moment of contact quelled his anger, but his confusion and hurt still remained.

“‘ _Don't want to argue in front of my plants,_ ’” Gemma mocked. “Honestly.”

Harry ignored her.

His silence lasted until they were sitting in a charming little cafe in muggle London.

“Are you at least going to order something?” Gemma asked, glaring at him over the menu.

Harry placed his elbows on the table. “I want Louis Tomlinson to be my boyfriend.”  
  
Gemma choked. She dropped the menu and leaned forwards, a question readied on her lips.

“I’m not asking permission, I’m just telling you,” Harry interrupted. “I know his family are _awful,_ and I don’t expect you to like it, but I’m an adult and so is he and he’s—”

“Not like them, yes, you said that before,” Gemma waved him off with fire in her eyes. “Harry, your _boyfriend?_ Why don’t you just ask him to marry you—how long have you even known the man?”

Harry stood. “Gemma, I love you,” he said, leaning down to make himself heard over the chatter of the cafe. “But this is my decision, not yours. Now, is it a caramel latte with almond milk kind of day or a cinnamon frappe with skim milk kind of day?”  
  
Gemma smiled, but the concern on her features still shone through. “It’s a decaf soy cappuccino day, actually.”  
  
Harry whistled. “Wow, what are we celebrating?”

“You, growing up,” Gemma said, leaning back in her chair and fake sniffling. “I don’t remember the last time you told anyone off.”  
  
Harry laughed—a genuine laugh—and then he was off to get their drinks.

Lunch was a much cheerier affair after that.

 

 

“So, I never did find out what your problem was?”  
  
Louis looked up from his notebook. His eyes were glazed over for a moment—caught up in the complicated sigils and inscrutable code he was scrawling—then they cleared, like clouds moving away from the sun. He grinned at Harry, and Harry grinned back.

“Well,” Louis said, leaning against his potion stand. “I’m afraid I’m hard at work so I couldn’t possibly tell you.”  
  
Harry raised his eyebrows. Judging by the gaps in Louis’ lovely little display, he’d only sold three potions today.

Nonetheless—

“My apologies, I would hate to distract you from your duties,” Harry simpered.

He’d been worried all afternoon about Louis, if Gemma’s harsh reaction to him had perhaps changed something between them, but the way Louis’ mouth twisted up to hide his fond grin told Harry all he needed to know.

Harry leaned closer. “I just came to ask you a question.”

Louis turned back to his notebook, casting small glances up at Harry far too often for the gesture to come across as at all nonchalant. “Go ahead, Styles.”  
  
“What’s your favourite flavour?”  
  
Louis made a considering noise. “Savoury or sweet?”  
  
“Sweet, of course.” Harry rolled his eyes.

Louis laughed. “In that case, its chocolate and mint.” He raised a finger before Harry could respond and tsked. “I know that’s technically _two_ flavours. Let me have this, Styles. Us Slytherins are indulgent people.”  
  
Harry pushed himself away from the stand. “That wasn’t what I was going to say at all,” he said through a grin as he walked backwards.

Louis sent him a sidelong glance. “Of course it wasn’t.”

Harry tripped over a loose stone. Louis was kind enough not to laugh too loudly at him.

That night, Harry baked mint and chocolate chip scones. He packed them into his favourite biscuit tin, then wrote a note to go with them. Gemma was right: he was grown, now. If he wanted to ask someone to the movie theatre for an evening of romantic companionship, then he damn well could.

 

 

His belladonna was blooming this morning.  
  
Harry sipped his tea as he studied the happy little leaves on it, the way the soil had become a little ashy around its roots—as was supposed to happen.

“Did you do this?” he asked his dittany.

The dittany was wilting a little, nothing a spot of mulch couldn’t fix, but it wasn’t as close to death as his Belladonna had been.

“How bout you, hm?” He stroked one of his flitterbloom’s tendrils. “Or maybe is it because she’s excited about the baby mandrakes we’re getting tomorrow?”  
  
Harry knew it couldn’t be that; no one in their right mind was excited about mandrakes.

Hence why Harry never tried to pretend to be anything except slightly unhinged.

The door opened, letting in some of the cheery morning sunlight that had been blocked by his blue-tinted glass.  
  
“Morning.”

Harry looked over at Louis.

Louis looked back.

“Would you like some tea?” Harry asked softly, offering his steaming cup.

Louis smiled and trotted over. He grasped Harry’s hand with a gloved one of his own and leant over the cup to take a sniff.  
  
“Chamomile?”

Harry nodded. “It’s my favourite in the mornings. You should feel lucky I’d part with some for you.”  
  
“Not as lucky as your belladonna is. Crawled back from the brink of death, hm?” Louis grinned at the plant like he was proud of it.

For an insane moment, Harry was convinced that his belladonna had healed herself using only the power of Louis’ goodwill.

Then he remembered that magic made even the most insane theories possible, so he chose to believe it.

“She did, yes.” Harry pulled his tea back towards himself since it was becoming obvious Louis wasn’t going to accept any.  
  
“Oi! What happened to the sip I was promised,” he laughed, reaching around Harry for the mug.

“It’s too late, your window of opportunity is closed,” Harry snapped back, holding the mug as high as he could.

“Well, now. That’s not very sporting, Styles,” Louis frowned, hands on his hips. “Just because you drank your oak root when you were a boy–”  
  
“My what now?” Harry laughed.  
  
“Oak root? It makes you big and strong? Honestly, what do they teach the youth these days,” Louis said, distracted by trying to reach the mug. He leaned his spare hand against Harry’s chest and he stood on his tiptoes. It brought their bodies closer together and Harry’s brain stopped working a little bit.

“I think that’s a pureblood thing.”

Louis stilled. He looked down from the mug and into Harry’s eyes. “Right, that makes sense,” he said slowly. “Sorry–”

Harry lowered the mug just enough for Louis to reach. He made a jump for it then scarpered away, successfully distracted from his unnecessary apology by the high of conquest.

“Aha!” Louis brought the mug up to his lips in victory while Harry shook his head. Louis took a sip, grimaced, and quickly deposited the mug back on Harry’s desk.

“There’s _way_ too much honey in that, Styles,” he announced. “Your teeth are rotting off as we speak, I’m afraid.”

Harry reclaimed his tea. “At least I’ll have my dignity,” he sniffed, then took an obnoxious gulp of the stuff. He definitely did put too much honey in it—he’d been distracted thinking about how Louis would receive his gift, sorry—but he wasn’t about to admit to that.

He spotted the edge of the biscuit tin sitting innocently on his chair and gulped. He leaned across and grabbed it while Louis was distracted greeting his hanging orchids (not magical at all, just pretty), then cleared his throat.  “Speaking of sweet things, I—”

Louis whirled around. “Harry, I actually wanted to ask you something? It’s very important.”  
  
Harry frowned. His heart sunk back towards his ribcage from where it had been lodged in his throat. “Um. Sure?”  
  
Louis looked pained for a moment. “Well, you see,” he said, then cut himself off. “The thing is, that I…”  
  
Harry waited as patiently as he could, but the tin in his hands demanded his attention.

“Can I talk yet?” Harry asked politely.

Louis waved him off. “For goodness sake, Harry, no! I’m bloody rubbish at this, I need space to flounder.” Louis emphasised his point by doing a strange little dance and nearly knocking his spotted earflower off the shelf.  
  
Harry grinned, helplessly endeared.  
  
“What I’m trying to ask,” Louis said once he gathered himself again, “is if you’d like to go on a date with me tomorrow to the botanical gardens?”  
  
Harry’s grin widened. “Sorry, what was that?”  
  
Louis scowled at him. “Don’t be a wanker about it, I said I was rubbish.”  
  
Harry took a step towards Louis, and the scowl melted off his face. Another step, and he gulped. A third, and Harry was breathing the same air as that wonderful, beautiful man.

“I didn’t think it was rubbish,” Harry said, leaning to make eye contact. Louis’ eyes flittered between Harry’s like he couldn’t decide on which one to look at. “And I would love to go to the botanical gardens with you.”

“Of course you would,” Louis said distantly. “I’m lovely.”

Harry simply smiled and pressed the biscuit tin into his hands. “I certainly think so.”

Louis snapped out of his daze a little—though he was still grinning deliriously. He pried open the tin with clever fingers, then froze.

“Harry,” he whispered. “Are these mint and chocolate chip scones?”

“No, it's butterbeer,” Harry deadpanned.

Louis ignored him, bringing the tin to his nose to have a sniff like he’d done the tea earlier. Then, he spotted the note stuck to the inside of the lid.

“What’s this?” he asked, already prying it off.

Harry shuffled his feet while Louis’ bright blue eyes skimmed over his messy penmanship.

“Styles,” Louis said, then licked his lips. He looked up at Harry with an uncomfortable intensity. “I would love to go to the movie theatre with you, whatever it is.”

Harry’s lips twitched. “Muggles put plays on–”

“Yes, I know _that,”_ Louis interrupted, rolling his eyes.

Harry pressed on, ignoring him. “Well, they record stories with a camera and project them to watch. Like a wizard picture with sound!”  
  
Louis looked aghast. “Since when can they do that?”  
  
Harry shrugged. “Couple decades?”

Louis seemed to realise how uncomfortable the line of inquiry was making Harry, so he changed course.

“It doesn’t matter, because I’ll experience it myself soon enough.” He closed the tin back up and tucked it under his arm. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at noon?”  
  
“For the gardens or the theatre?”  
  
“Gardens first, Harry; I beat you to it.”  
  
Harry shook his head fondly. “Alright. I’ll wear my most floral outfit.”  
  
“Please do,” Louis grinned. He hesitated for a moment, then leaned up. His lips pressed to Harry’s cheek for just a moment before he was gone again, stepping backwards towards the door and waving with his free hand.

Harry waved back, unable to keep the dopey grin off his face.

_We’ve got a date!_

It was all he could think for the rest of the day, the words bouncing around in his head like pixies as he closed up and walked through his portal into his greenhouse.

He told every single one of his plants about it as he checked them over, and they all seemed as excited for him as plants could be.

_We’ve got a date._

 

 

Harry wasn’t joking about wearing his most floral outfit. Well, he sort of was, but only in the kind of way that he was serious about doing it.

He laughed at himself every time he caught a glimpse of his sleeves (covered in a silk shirt printed with roses and carnations) or his legs (covered in bell-bottom cotton trousers patterned with petals and leaves and curlicues). He’d even taken the time to transfigure one of his plain scarves into a pattern that matched his trousers, then wound it around his head.

His customers took it in stride—a little offensive, considering Harry rarely dressed _this_ loudly—and his shiny attitude seemed to infect everyone that walked into his store.

Including the person responsible for it, once the clock struck noon.

“Hi, Harry,” Louis breathed, pausing in the doorway and taking him in.

Harry clambered down off the stepladder; his mandrake seedlings could wait another few minutes before being watered. He’d made sure to put them on his very top shelf, lest a curious customer give one a tug.

“Hi, Louis,” Harry said, straightening his shirt and smearing some dirt on it in the process.  
  
Louis laughed and strided over to him. “Can’t have you messing up this wonderful outfit, now, can we?” he said, vanishing the stain with a flick of his wand. He looked up at Harry from under his eyelashes, and Harry’s heart skipped a beat.

“No, I suppose not,” he answered on autopilot.  
  
Louis stepped back. “Are you ready for our date, then?”

Harry went to tuck some of his hair behind his ear, then remembered his scarf. “Yes! Um,” he floundered, looking about the shop like his satchel would start blinking at him. “One moment.”

He stumbled behind his desk where he’d last seen it. Louis entertained himself by greeting all of Harry’s plants—especially the flitterbloom—while Harry rifled through his bag to check he had his keys. He was so rarely in a position where he needed to lock the store from the outside, so used to coming and going through his portal. It wasn’t like he really _needed_ to lock it considering how many wards he’d put up, but. Still. He liked to.

“Great! I’m ready to go,” Harry said, pulling the bag over his shoulder and stuffing his keys into his pocket.

Louis looked over at him with a grin, and Harry took a moment to appreciate the ensemble he’d chosen for today; a soft black turtleneck tucked in to tight green trousers.  
  
It gave Harry pause; it wasn’t often you saw a pureblood in trousers.

“You look really nice today, Louis,” Harry ventured as he stepped around his desk.

Louis turned away towards the door without answering, but Harry saw the pinkness to his cheeks. He smiled at his feet and didn’t push it.

Once they were out on the street, Harry locked his shop up. The dancing willow on his sign announced that he was closed, and he took a moment to smile at it.

“So, I thought I could apparate us there? If that’s alright with you,” Louis said, offering his hand.

Harry took it with a smile and a nod. Going sidealong with Louis was smoother than he’d thought possible; Gemma and Niall were his only other reference points, and he was always at least a _little_ woozy after apparating with them.

With Louis, though, it was amazingly smooth. One instant he was standing outside his shop in Diagon Alley, and the next he was standing at a large gate. He could see the gardens through it, but there was something old and powerful about the gate that made his hair stand on end.

“Oh, I should have mentioned,” Louis said, gesturing to the gate with his free hand. Harry had already tangled his fingers with Louis’, so he wasn’t getting the other one back anytime soon—not that Louis seemed to mind. “There’s an enchantment on the gate, only magical beings with pure intentions can go through.” He turned to Harry and narrowed his eyes playfully. “Not planning on taking a bite out of anything, are you?”  
  
Harry honked a laugh and started pulling them towards the gate. “Damn, you’ve caught me,” he joked, turning to walk backwards through it so he could stare at Louis behind him. “How will I ever keep my secrets if you insist on exposing me like this?”  
  
Louis grinned, trotting after him obligingly. Harry’s skin tingled the moment he past through, but he was distracted staring at Louis.

“Well, there’s your answer, then,” Louis replied, barely blinking as the enchantment past over him as well. “You’ll have no secrets ever again.”  
  
Harry shook his head and turned back around. He paused as he took it in, then felt Louis step up beside him and rub his thumb over the back of Harry’s hand.  
  
“Do you like it?” he asked, hushed and sincere where a moment ago he’d been brash and joking.

Harry nodded mutely. It was a beautiful sight to behold; overgrown trees and bushes lined the pathway, and Harry could see all kinds of magical plants scattered around through the growth. Pixies buzzed through the air, tending to the brightly-coloured flowers that were growing on vines circling all the trees.

“They’ve sort of let this place go a bit, the Ministry,” Louis added, a touch of nerves in his voice. “My mother took us once as children and complained the whole time about how messy it all was compared to the first time she’d–”

“I love it,” Harry interrupted, listening out for the birdsong. He smiled at Louis, then turned back to the view. “It’s perfect.”

Louis started walking forwards, and this time it was Harry who trotted along behind. He was taking in everything in a daze, trying to recognise and name every species he past. His herbology teacher would be proud of how many he managed.

“There’s a little pond up ahead, I thought we could have our picnic there?” Louis asked, ducking out of the way of a butterfly.

Harry nodded again, then squeezed Louis’ hand.

The pond was just as beautiful as the rest of the gardens. It managed to sparkle in the watery sunlight, clear and bright. Harry sighed as he settled on the grass under a tree, curling his legs against himself as he watched some dragonflies flit around and the Mercury flytraps try and catch them as they past. Louis cleared his throat next to him, and Harry turned.

“I do have a picnic blanket, you know,” he teased, crouching beside Harry.  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Harry said, scrambling to stand.

Louis just laughed and produced the blanket from his coat pocket. It was folded incredibly small, but Louis shook it out a few times and it grew to the size of a sheet. Before Harry could settle down again, bowls and trays started appearing on the blanket, topped with treats and sandwiches and juices and cheeses.

Harry’s eyes widened.

Louis looked surprised by his reaction. “Did your family not have one of these?” he asked.

Harry shook his head. “No, um. Gemma and I grew up pretty much without magic, Dad wasn’t around very often.”  
  
“Oh.” Louis looked down at the blanket, then back up at Harry. “If you like, we could go and get muggle food instead?”  
  
Harry’s eyebrows raised. “There’s not actually much difference between muggle food and magical food, Louis,” he said. His brain was a little fuzzy, trying to decide between feeling irrationally offended and feeling hideously fond.

The fond won out when Louis ducked his head with a blush. “Of course, I didn’t mean–”

Harry sat down.  
  
Louis looked up.

“Well, this isn’t going to eat itself,” Harry said, holding up a cupcake with a gentle smile.

Louis knelt on the blanket, then leant his weight on his hand. He looked like Olympia on her chaise lounge: regal and soft, yet brave somehow and… sensual, even though Harry was sure Louis wasn't trying to be.

Harry shoved a crumpet in his mouth to distract himself.

Louis’ nose crinkled as he watched Harry, then leaned forwards to pour himself some tea.

“So you grew up without magic? What was that like?” Louis asked. Harry's hackels rose a little, but the sincere curiosity on Louis’ face was enough to soothe them.

“It was wonderful, actually. I went to school for a while, had loads of friend. They'd come over every Saturday so we could crowd around the telly and watch Doctor Who.”

Louis nodded along, but Harry could tell he'd lost him.

Harry sighed, then smiled. “I'll start from the top, shall I?”

Louis ducked his head in embarrassment, and Harry leaned forwards to press a quick kiss to his cheek. He couldn't help himself. Louis grinned at him, brighter than the reflection of the sun on the water.

After that, Louis wasn't afraid to ask for clarification when Harry talked about his muggle upbringing, and Harry wasn't afraid to lean his back against Louis' chest and feed him grapes.

It was the best date Harry had ever had, and the grin on his face as he stumbled back into his shop two hours after leaving it stayed there for the rest of his day.

 

 

It had been a week since their first date, and Harry and Louis had been on three since. They'd gone to a muggle coffee shop—Louis insisted, but Harry payed—and to the Ministry-run magical museum in York, and lastly to the movie theatre to see a weird French film that Louis picked out because it had his name in the title.

They hadn't really bothered to watch much of that movie.

But now Harry was in his shop bright and early, barely caffeinated and unduly happy. Because, miraculously, his flitterbloom had reproduced.

He'd been watering her like normal when he saw it: just a little sprout, three curious tendrils poking out of the soil of her pot.

He rushed into his greenhouse and accio’d a small pot and some soil, then went back into his shop. He used a trowel to dig the little one out, cooing at it as it waved its tendrils in greeting. He buried its roots in the new pot then gave it a sprinkling of fertiliser and water. It looked adorable in its own still-too-big pot.

He looked around under his desk, making a noise in victory when he spotted his special gift-wrapping boxes.

“Would you like a pink one or a green one?” he asked, holding them up to the seedling like it would have any sort of opinion in the matter.

It waved a little at the green one (or, at the air about a foot to the left of the green one, but that would have to do).

“Excellent choice, little one,” Harry praised, lifting it into the box gently. “Louis loves green. Typical Slytherin.”

He placed the lid on the box, then slapped a bow on top. Casting a quick tempus charm, he decided he had enough time to go and gift it to Louis before he was officially open.

Louis was usually at his stand setting up right about then, so Harry lifted the box and made his way out onto the street.

He slowed when he spotted Louis across the paved road. He was standing behind his potions stand like Harry had thought he would be, but he was already talking to a customer.

Harry pushed forward regardless, too excited about his gift to wait a moment longer. Once he was closer, though, he noticed something off in Louis’ body language—a tightness to his shoulders and a rigidity to his movements. Harry frowned, taking in the older woman he was talking to. There was something familiar about her, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.  
  
By the time he recognised her as Lady Tomlinson—Louis’ mother—it was too late. He was within hearing range, and Louis had already sent him a panicked look.

“–truly, you must know how ridiculous this all is. We’ve put up with it for _months_ now, letting you have your fun playing shopkeep, but this whole thing is starting to be an embarrassment _,_ Louis. Lord Black even asked your Uncle Ferdimus if we were out of funds since he’d seen you out here, haggling like some sort of–”

Harry came to a stop a few feet from the stand, unsure if he should interrupt or not. Louis smiled at him—a tight, quick thing—and his moment of distraction was enough to cut Lady Tomlinson off.

“Good morning, Louis. Your Ladyship,” Harry greeted, at first warm and then decidedly not. She looked him over with a shrewd glance, lips turning down at the sight of his muggle jeans and his loudly patterned shirt.  
  
She turned back to Louis, a new scowl on her face. Harry wondered what she thought she’d figured out in the one second she’d looked at him, but then she answered his unasked question and he regretted ever thinking it in the first place. “The Styles boy? That’s what this childish escapade is about?” she sneered, leaning towards Louis and bristling with anger. “Surely you can’t be serious. You know your father will never consent to such a ridiculous union.”

Louis gulped, looking hurt. Just before Harry was going to open his mouth to try and diffuse the situation, Louis seemed to find his nerve. He set his shoulders and clenched his jaw, placing his hands against the wood of the stand so he could get in his mother’s face. “Father can shove his consent up his arsehole.”  
  
She reared back in shock, but Louis wasn’t finished.

“You can go ahead and incinerate my face from the family tree, I’m not coming back. I’ve been waiting for months for you to give up and disown me, so I guess I’ll have to do it myself. I’ve taken everything I want already, and I’d like to never speak to you or any of your bigoted relatives ever again.” Louis crossed his arms when he finished, staring her down with the bravery of a thousand Gryffindors.

Harry had never loved him more. Well, he’d never before thought he had, but. He did, in that moment. He loved him so much.

Lady Tomlinson opened her mouth to retort, but Harry stepped next to Louis before she could. He placed a hand on his back in solidarity, then stared her down. “I think it’s best you leave before anyone starts talking,” he said lowly.

She turned, aghast, and took in the couple of bystanders that had paused on the street to watch the drama unfold. They jumped to attention once they’d been caught, scrambling to turn back to their conversations or keep walking along, but the damage had already been done.

Lady Tomlinson sent Louis one final sneer as she stepped away. “You’ll regret this in thirty years when you’re destitute and alone. Turning your back on your family is going to be the worst mistake of your life.”  
  
“On the contrary, mother,” Louis grinned, sharp as a dagger. “It’s already the best decision I’ve ever made.”

Lady Tomlinson looked like she wanted nothing more than to stay there and argue, but her pride won out. Of course it did.  
  
She apparated away with a sudden _crack,_ and then it was nothing but the mundane sounds of Diagon Alley for a few moments.

Louis let out a sigh, then relaxed against Harry. Harry stepped closer, drawing him into a hug from behind and taking all of his weight.  
  
“I’m sorry you had to see that, Harry,” Louis whispered tiredly. “She can be… well, bloody awful, f’m honest.”

Harry smiled. He loved it when Louis slurred his words, when he dropped the plumminess a little so he sounded more like the people Harry grew up with. It was happening more and more every day; Harry liked to think he was rubbing off on him.

“I can see that, yeah,” Harry answered, swaying them. “Do you want to talk about it?”  
  
Louis shook his head instantly. “Maybe later, darling. Not today. I’m just glad that’s over with, it’s been so long since I left that I thought they’d just forgotten about me.”

Harry hummed sadly, then turned his head into Louis’ neck and pressed a soft kiss there.

Louis relaxed more against him, baring his neck. The perfect target.

Harry pressed closer and blew a loud raspberry.  
  
Louis shrieked out a laugh, dancing away from him. “You bastard!” he said, still giggling.

Harry shrugged, unashamed. He’d gotten Louis smiling again, that was all he needed.

Louis’ laughter died down, and Harry reached for the little box he’d left on Louis’ stand before he got sad again.

“Here, ‘s why I came over this morning,” he said, pressing the gift into Louis’ hand, enjoying the awestruck look on his face. “Happy one week?”

Louis shook his head in disbelief, cradling the gift against his chest for a moment. “You’re more wonderful than I could ever deserve,” he said fiercely. Harry wanted to argue, but Louis was already lifting the lid. “Oh!” he said, face lighting up. “A little one?”  
  
Harry nodded with a laugh, sharing Louis’ giddiness. “Yeah, isn’t it so cute? I found it this morning in her pot. I want you to have it.”  
  
Louis lifted the small pot out of the box and held it up to his face. One of the plant’s tiny tendrils booped his noise in its excitement, and Louis melted.

“Thank you so much,” he said, looking past the plant at Harry. “I’m going to love him with all my heart, I promise.”

“I know, Louis,” Harry said. “That’s why he’s yours.”

Louis did nothing but smile at him for a long moment, looking lost in his contentment. Harry was happy enough to smile back.  
  
“Right! Well,” Louis coughed, once he realised how long he’d been staring. “Now I have to think of the perfect name, don’t I?”  
  
Harry stepped away. “I’ll leave that in your very capable hands,” he said.

Louis’ mouth curled up at the sides, and he fiddled with his fringe. “I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

Harry turned, already halfway across the street. Not far enough to hear Louis, though. Never that. “Yeah,” he answered over his shoulder.  
  
Louis blew him a kiss, and then looked a little mortified to have been caught doing that in public.

Harry blew him one right back.

 

 

_Epilogue_

 

 

“How soon did you say they’d be here?”  
  
Harry sighed, dropping his hands from where he’d been covering their Christmas tree in decorations. The enchanted dancing chestnut in his hands kept on dancing, but Harry ignored it.

“Louis,” he said. “Stop stressing.”  
  
Louis glared at him. He was standing at the dining table and fiddling with the serviettes, like Harry’s mum and sister were going to give a shit about ‘correct folding’ or other such nonsense.

“Oh, yeah, cheers,” Louis sneered, the sarcasm barely hiding his nerves. “I’ll just do that, then, shall I?”

Harry put the dancing chestnut on the tree and walked over to him. “Sweetheart, you’re snapping again.”  
  
Louis frowned as Harry tangled their fingers gently, looking like he wanted to keep arguing. Then, he deflated.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, pulling Harry into a hug. “I just really want them to like me.”  
  
Harry cooed and rubbed his back. “They already like you!”

Louis scoffed and stepped out of Harry’s hold. “They like me when I’m your boyfriend, they might not when I’m your fiance and my cousin’s just been all over the papers getting thrown in Azkaban for murder–”

“Louis, stop,” Harry said, low and insistent. “Everyone knows you’re not like your family.”  
  
Something sour passed over Louis’ face, but it was gone before Harry could ask about it.

“I just wish I didn’t have to be,” Louis answered.  
  
Harry’s brow pinched, but the fireplace flared up with green smoke before he could say anything else.

“Oh! It’s lovely in here, boys,” Anne said, stepping out of the fireplace and taking in Harry and Louis’ cottage with a bright smile. “So homely.”  
  
Harry rushed over to pull her into a hug. “Mum! It’s been too long,” he said, squeezing as tight as he dared.  
  
She laughed and squeezed back. “Careful, darling, I’m still fresh from that floo thing your sister made us use.”

Harry pulled back as Gemma appeared in the fireplace behind them.

“Louis! So good to see you again, darling,” Anne said, and Harry glanced over his shoulder in time to see his mother pull him in for a hug.

Louis melted against her, and Harry grinned at the sight.

“Hiya, Harry,” Gemma intoned, stepping up beside him and following his gaze. “How are things?”

Harry elbowed her and she laughed.

“Things are wonderful. Is Aurelia coming?”

Gemma nodded. “George is bringing her.”

The fireplace flared up again, and Harry’s brother-in-law and niece stepped through.

He didn’t waste any time scooping her up into a hug, grinning at her overjoyed greeting of, “Uncle Harry!”

“Good evening, Gemma, George,” Harry heard Louis say, pressed a kiss to their cheeks. “Miss Aurelia! How are you?”

Aurelia squirmed in his arms. “Louis!”

Harry laughed and passed her over. Louis had replaced him as her favourite sometime between showering her with magical toys and teaching her how to make a few simple potions. He’d stopped being mad about it a while ago.

“Dinner will be ready in a few if everyone wants to get settled in?” Harry asked, shepherding his family towards the table. “Louis and I actually had an announcement that we’d like to share first, if that’s alright?”  
  
Anne sat at the head, Gemma to her left and George next to her with Aurelia on his lap.

“An announcement!” he said, bouncing his daughter until she giggled. “How exciting.”  
  
Harry stepped up beside Louis and linked their fingers. The nerves from a few short minutes ago had all but disappeared; Harry could tell by the way Louis leant against him, by the giddy smile on his face.

Harry cleared his throat and turned back to his family— _their_ family.

“We’re engaged.”

There was silence for a moment, and Louis' fingers gripped so tight on Harry's he thought they'd go numb, and then. Then, Gemma squealed and rushed up to hug them, and Anne congratulated them, and Aurelia clapped loudly in response to the joy in the room.

And it was at that: joy. It seeped into the brick walls of their two-story cottage, it passed by the dishes stirring themselves in the kitchen and the now-grown flitterbloom—Fitzpatrick—that lived on the windowsill; it even filled up the greenhouse in the yard and further still, bursting through the portal Harry had reworked to be compatible to Louis’ magical signature and into the store they now shared.

Even the belladonna and the dittany felt it as they bloomed side by side on the shelf: a soft caress of joy, pure and simple.

 

_The End._

 


End file.
